


A Handful of Names for Just One Thing

by taliahale



Category: Old Man's War (Series) - John Scalzi
Genre: 3 Things, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Churros, F/F, F/M, Gen, Nonverbal Communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-03-02 09:09:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2807168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taliahale/pseuds/taliahale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three things that never happened to Jane Sagan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Handful of Names for Just One Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadowlover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowlover/gifts).



1.

 

The Earth would be indistinguishable from the hundreds of other planets Jane’s walked on if it wasn’t for all the _people_. It’s obscene, really. All those squishy, breakable humanoid beings smushed onto this bizarrely revered little hunk of rock in a two-bit corner of the rather unfashionable arm of the Milky Way galaxy. Her first thought’s always ‘who the hell would live on this overcrowded heap,’ immediately followed by ‘all these people without a choice who don’t know any better.’

CDF soldiers are still a rarefied sight to most Earthlings, so Jane garners a lot of attention as she strolls through the National Mall in her dress uniform. The uniform would help her blend in most places in Washington, but the green skin’s sort of a giveaway. On the advice of Hafte Sorvalh, she’s utilizing a break in her interminable meeting schedule to finally try one of Antonio Morales’ famous pastries.

Jane finally spots the little cart, ‘Tony’s Churros’ emblazoned on its side in cheerful red lettering. After approaching, she studies the menu sign, ignoring the curious gaze of the proprietor.

“A friend of Ambassador Sorvalh’s?” the man—presumably the eponymous Tony—asks her with a smile.

Jane doesn’t return the smile, but does nod. “An acquaintance, at least. You come highly recommended.”

“Well,” Tony fills a paper bag with half a dozen steaming, cinnamon-dusted pastries, “that’s certainly something. First time in Washington?” He passes the bag over and Jane flips open the flap of her satchel to retrieve the card they’d given her on Earth Station for on-planet purchases.

“First time on Earth.” Jane exchanges the card for the bag and sniffs at its contents. Her BrainPal confirms there’s nothing dangerous inside—saturated fats aren’t a concern for someone when your body’s been manufactured by the Colonial Science Division’s best and brightest—so she takes a bite.

“How are you finding it so far?” Tony asks, passing back the card as Jane devours the first churro in a flurry of quick bites and pleased noises.

“Amazing,” Jane assures him, slipping the card back into her satchel.

Tony laughs, face splitting into a pleased smile. “Thank you, but I meant Earth.”

“Oh.” Jane looks around the Mall, bustling with lives untouched by constant intergalactic peril. The buildings are beautiful in their way, the grass is vibrant and soft, and the sky is a pleasing sort of gentle blue. “Same answer.”

 

2.

 

Jane is lying on her bunk with her eyes closed, zipping joyfully through the delightfully twisted collected works of Gail Carriger—she appears to have been a most productive mind, for a realborn—when Elise Kepler pings a flurry of _irritation impatience excitement hungry hungry hungry_ to Jane’s BrainPal.

Jane answers back in a burst of _fondness irritation hungry eye roll_ with an admonishment to wait before leaving for dinner. The crew’s been taking full advantage of the three-days leave they’ve been granted on Phoenix Station before shipping out to ‘parts unknown’ i.e. not-so-neutral territory recently laden with missiles. She slaps the release on her hotel room’s door and raises her eyebrows at Elise.

 _Impatient impatient hungry hungry hungry_ Elise pings with an added scrolling text in an obnoxious, bubbly font, ‘I should’ve left without you. The realborns are going to eat all the burgers before we even get there.’  There’s no sting to it, the chastisement of a lifelong friend softened with the humming, glimmering warmth of _fondness jocularity we might die soon let's have a little fun._

Jane sends back, ‘Sure,’ in the same font writ five times the original size. She bumps Elise’s shoulder as they head down the hallway, a coiling spool of fondness that most accurately translates to _I have no idea why I missed you while you were on temp assignment, you Grounder_.

‘Do you think whatever they use actually looks like a cow?’ Elise pings Jane while she verbally relays her order to the server at Phoenix’s famed burger bar. _Amused curious hungry hungry hungry_.

Jane and Elise eat their meal in what would appear to casual observers as utter silence. In reality, their bites are mingled with tangled webs of gossip and emotions and curiousity about the coming mission. When they leave the bar, Elise shoots Jane a questioning image. It’s tempting, a haze of tangled sheets and low light casting a golden glow on the smooth, dark skin at the dip of Elise’s back. Jane shakes her head and the BrainPal equivalent of a gentle hand squeeze. She adores Elise, but is in the mood for something a little different before the crew’s all confined to their normal, close quarters.

Elise nods amiably and heads to Club S in a cloudburst of club music and a teasing message in her real text, spiky cursive cheekily telling Jane, ‘You snooze, you loose.’

Jane makes her way back to PCH Campbell Main Terminal Hotel. She orders a drink at the bar off the lobby, then settles into a corner booth to wait. It doesn’t take long. He looks tired, but satisfied, hair rumpled and civvies slightly mangled by a long day on a diplomatic transport. After ordering a beer, he turns and scans the overflowing tables and booths for a spare seat and ah—

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, head tilted to the side. His wide eyes very studiously stay above her shoulders and her answering grin is sharper than she probably intended.

“Please.” Jane nods at the opposite bench of her booth.

“Hart,” he introduces himself, smiling and running recently sunburnt fingers through his sandy hair. The fragility of realborns is an unending fascination for Jane.

“Jane.” She extends a hand and lets her grip linger just long enough for Hart to get the idea.

He blushes prettily and Jane pings Elise’s BrainPal with that lovely image.

‘Go get him, tiger,’ Elise answers in a flood of pounding bass and writhing bodies.

‘I intend to.’

 

3.

 

Jane’s roommate, Jesse Gonzales, had apparently made friends with a few people on the ride up the beanstalk to Colonial Station.

“If you’d like to join us in the mess I’m sure you’d be welcome, dear,” Jesse assures Jane, all but shoving her towards a table already half-filled with chatting strangers. “I’m not saying you _have_ to, but—”

“It’s fine.” Jane nods, taking a seat with only a slight twinge of her artificial hips. To her right a man is drawing a detailed diagram of the beanstalk they’d all ridden earlier in the day. “I thought they’d already disproven that model,” she adds to her tablemate, who looks up with a crooked grin.

“Not so much disproven as given up on due to monumental costs,” he replies, tucking his pen into the breast pocket of his shirt and extending a hand. “Harry Wilson.”

“Jane Sagan,” she shakes his proffered hand. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you. My roommate, Jesse, didn’t think it would be a problem.” Jane nods at each tablemate in turn until she sees the man sitting directly across from her. The spoon he’d been using on his mashed potatoes is hovering halfway between his plate and his mouth and his eyes look like they might roll right out of his head. “Or maybe there is a problem?”

Mr. Mashed Potatoes puts his fork down and gives his head a little shake. “Sorry, you just—you look a hell of a lot like someone I know.” He blanches and extends a slightly shaky hand. “Knew. John Perry.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, John,” Jane replies, shaking his hand.

“Oh, no.” John has kind eyes, but they do little to soften his oddly grave tone. “The pleasure is all mine.”


End file.
